


Starkid One Shots

by wingedrat



Category: A Very Potter Musical Series - Team StarKid, Black Friday - Team StarKid, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Multi, i apologize for my tagging skills, non conny vibes for the first chapter, one shots, vomit warning for first chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22459765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedrat/pseuds/wingedrat
Summary: fics I wrote but never bothered to upload here(also uploaded on Wattpad)1: I'm Still The Man You Trust (TGWDLM, Paul x Emma; vomiting, slight non con)2: Circle of Life (TGWDLM, Alice & Paul; fluff)3: Wonderful (AVPM, Quirrell x Voldemort, fluff)4: Goodbye To My Santa Monica Dream (Wilbur Cross & John McNamara- can be interpreted as whatever: I have no idea what category it fits into)
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins, Quirinus Quirrell/Voldemort, Wilbur Cross & John McNamara
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	1. I'm Still The Man You Trust

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: vomiting, rapey vibes

"I love you."

The man she used to love, hell, maybe even still does- Paul, stood behind her, arms wrapped around her waist and holding onto _tight_ , like he suspected that Emma was going to run off. The grip didn't feel natural, didn't feel human. Her heart raced as one hand loosened its grip, trailed up her torso, up to her face. Cold knuckles brushed against her skin, and rubbed against her right cheek, a sick sort of caress. There was nothing romantic about it at all.

Emma wanted to scream, kick him where it hurt, beat the shit out of Paul. Was it even Paul anymore? Was he still there? Or was it just an alien pretending to be him, going through his memories, copying his mannerisms. But, she couldn't do anything about it. A single wrong move, and she would be turned into one of those freaks. It was a goddamn miracle they had let her off with a stern warning. Obey them, do everything they ask of her, and you get to live.

"Aren't you going to say it back, Emma?" he whispered in her ear, the cool breath sending shivers down the barista's spine.

Silence.

Shaking his head, Paul temporarily let go of Emma, and holy shit, she was free momentarily- it felt so fucking good to be away from Paul's touch. She didn't know what she was expecting, to be set free? No. The freedom was gone before she even knew it, Emma was roughly shoved against the intense white of the hospital walls. "What the hell- fucking ow!" she exclaimed, earning a pissed off look from the other man.

"Watch your mouth, Em. We don't use that kind of language here."

And then came the intense pain blossoming in her leg, because the bastard had kicked her! She groaned in pain, hunched over as her hand instinctively shot out to cover her knee, trying to protect it from any more suffering.

Paul shook his head, hand placed on the middle of her chest, keeping her in place. She didn't even need the hand- Emma probably would've stayed in place from pure fear. She'd never really seen Paul as intimidating, he kind of reminded her of a house cat. Bitchy but cute. Except, you know. Now he was dead, or a vessel for an alien, or whatever. Part of a hivemind? She had no clue what the hell he was at this point.

Eyes frantically searched, looking for a way out, a weapon, something to defend herself with. She didn't want to be here anymore. She didn't want to see Paul's face ever again. She never wanted to step foot in Hatchetfield or Clivesdale or even the fucking whole United States ever again. Fuck the pot farm- she just wanted to go far away. Find somewhere she can hide, hide away from civilization. Maybe she'd get herself a bunker like Hidgens in Norway or Greenland, and just stay there till the end of time- till she died.

"Now, what do you say?"

Even the thought of saying those three words made her want to vomit. 'I love you' is something that she'd say to the real Paul, but there was no real Paul anymore, was there? All there were alien invading minds- the Paul she knew and loved was gone.

She shakily exhaled, head turning away. "I love you." she murmured, blinking rapidly to try and get the tears welling up in her eyes to go away. That wasn't good enough for Paul, apparently. He tsked, sighing.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" he asked, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him. The intensity and rage in his eyes scared the ever loving shit out of her, and there was no running from anything now. Avoiding it would make it worse- mind as well get it over with, right?

" _I love you_." Emma said once more, louder this time. Tears dripped down her cheeks, and at least this time he seemed to approve of it.

"Good."

Then, he was leaning in, and pulling her in for a kiss, and holy fucking shit, she couldn't take it anymore. She felt nauseous, but Paul was determined to get what he wanted. When she tried to pull away, he simply grabbed hold of her face, keeping her locked in place. Emma stood there, motionless and breathing heavily. He just wanted to take and she had nothing to give. There was no reciprocating from her side, but Paul didn't seem to mind that.

He bit down on her lower lip, and she gasped, flinching from the pain. She could feel him grin as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, and it felt fucking weird. His lips were surprisingly soft, but she couldn't really think about that, most likely because there was a tongue shoved down her throat.

After way too long of panicking, she started to recover from the shock and decided that it was time to take action. Emma bit down on his tongue, and he immediately pulled away and then she kicked him in the nuts with her good leg because _fuck you you fucking son of a bitch, I hate you, you ruined my fucking life you bastard-_

Paul doubled over in pain, and thank God, you vicious two faced prick. She ran to her bedside table, grabbed the food tray from her lunch earlier today, and whacked him on the back of the head. Paul fell to the ground with a thud, the blue shit leaking out his fresh wound. Gross.

Just to be safe, she bent down and hit him with the metal tray again, and there was no reaction. He just laid there, unconscious. For how long? Who knows. Hopefully enough time for her to escape from this hellhole.  
Emma opened the door, and bolted out of there. The hallways were dark, but she was pretty sure she could find a way out. She stood outside her room, and the nauseousness returned. Her breath came out in short little pants, and shit. She was gonna throw up and-

...

Fuck. She exhaled deeply, leaning against a wall for support as she wiped her mouth with her arm. It's not like anybody was here to yell at her for puking. Nor would anyone care, because y'know, they were all dead. Or infected. Both?

Taking a minute to catch her breath, she looked around. All clear.

"Goodbye, shit head." she murmured, squinting as she tried to make out the sign in the dark. Great. She was on the 3rd floor. Elevators were... probably not working. But, hey. At least the stairs were to the left. Now she just had to make it there without falling on her ass, or breaking her leg even more.

——

The hospital was completely silent, except for the sound of fabric rustling, heavy breathing, and oh, a groan of pain. Blood dripped on the floor, and in the dark room, it looked pitch black. It took a moment for Paul to realize what was going on. He was alone, and Emma was nowhere to be found. Head pounding, he stumbled as he tried to get up on his feet. His body ached from the awkward position he had been laying in, but that didn't matter.

_He needed to find Emma._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi and thank you for reading. itd mean the world to me if you left a kudos or comment but nobody's forcing you to. give me your thoughts. did you like this? hate it? im happy to accept any criticsm
> 
> (reminder of the day: drink water, eat food, take your meds if you need to. you are loved. "oh, but michael (thats me)! nobody loves me!" you might say. well, somebody does. its me. i dont know who might be reading this, who might need this, but youre here for a reason! youve made it this far, so keep on going. if you need to talk, im always here. its the bro code)
> 
> social medias:  
> instagram: wingedrat_  
> tumblr: winged-rat666  
> discord: changes way too often


	2. Circle of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: none!

"Paul, Paul!" the little six year old exclaimed when she saw the college student open the door, pizza box in hand, climbing off the couch in a rush to hug her babysitter.

Grinning as he set the pizza down on the table, he crouched down with his arms open, ruffling Alice's hair when she practically jumped into his arms. "Al, hey." he chuckled, wrapping his arms around her as he stood up, holding her up in the air. "How are you?"

"Happy, now! Last time I saw you was a whole three days ago." she frowned, giving him a pouty face as she was set down. "That's okay though. Daddy said you'll be hanging out with me more often because momma's busy with a lot of busy-ness trips."

Biting his lip, Paul nodded. Yep. Business trips, that's what it was. He cleared his throat, then grabbed Alice's hand, leading her to the kitchen. "Have you eaten yet?"

He got a head shake in return.

"Okay, luckily for you I got pizza. Your favorite- cheese. Just need to talk to your dad for a bit." he said, grabbing a plate for her and setting the box on the island. "All you can eat, just don't waste anything."

Poor kid. She was completely oblivious to what was going on between her parents, but maybe that was best. Ignorance is bliss, they say. Paul felt bad- Bill had been trying to make it work with his wife ever since high school, even when they both knew there was really no love between them, it was all for Alice. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he watched Alice chow down on her pizza. She was an amazing kid, he thought to himself before he went to go search for his best friend.

He found him in the bathroom, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. Paul knocked on the door frame before walking in, scoffing. "You look fine, dude. Swear you're gonna land this job. Mr. Davidson is a great guy."

Bill looked at him warily, a disbelieving look in his eyes. "I know, I know. You've told me about him a dozen times. Just nervous, y'know?"

"Whatever." he shook his head, affectionate smile tugging at his lips. "I bet you just don't wanna work with me."

"Oh no, you've found out the truth."

"Just get out of here- I believe in you."

Paul shoved Bill out of the bathroom, trailing behind him as he made his way to the front door. Alice looked up when she heard the two, mouth full of food and tomato sauce smeared on her face. "Bye, daddy!"

Glancing at Paul one last time, he nodded. "Bye, sweetheart."

-

"It's ten. You have to go to bed."

"No."

"Alice."

"No!"

"Aw, come on. I let you stay up two hours past your bedtime. Your dad's gonna be mad at me if I let you stay up any later."

"...Can we watch one last movie? Please."

She always fell for that, he chuckled to himself, rolling his eyes. "Okay, fine. One last movie. What do you want to watch?"

"The Lion King! Daddy and momma watch it with me all the time when they're home. It's my favorite. Daddy likes to hold me up like Simba and momma sings the song. It's fun. You have to sing it with me, though."

"Al, I love you, but come on. I'm not singing the Lion King song with you. I have dignity."

"Don't care." she huffed, rushing over to her collection of DVDs and pulling out The Lion King. "You're gonna do it no matter what! Or else I'm gonna... snitch! Like Uncle Ted always says, stitches get snitches."

"That's not... you've got it flipped around. Don't listen to anything Ted says. Hey, come here. I've got a secret to tell you."

Alice finished setting up the DVD, then grabbed a Simba plushie from her toy bin. She scrambled back up on the couch next to Paul, tilting her head. "Yeah? What're you gonna tell me."

"Don't tell anyone this." he whispered in a low voice, leaning in. "Ted's a big idiot. Don't listen to anything he says."

Gasping, the six year old covered her ears. "Paul! You said a bad word. You don't call people the I word!". She removed a hand from her ear, and pointed at a somewhat full jar sitting on the TV stand. "Dollar in the swear jar."

"I am a struggling young adult, Alice! I cannot afford to put anything in the swear jar."

"Ya have to. That's the rules around here!"

Laughing, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a crumbled up dollar bill from his wallet. He waved the dollar in front of Alice's face, then dramatically stalked over to the swear jar, dropping a dollar in. The biggest contributor to the jar was Ted, then came Paul. Bill was extraordinarily good at not cussing- he always replaced them with stupid censored versions, like frick. Hell, one time he even used the phrase "H-E double hockey sticks", and Paul almost pissed himself from laughing so hard.

"There ya go, are you happy?"

"Yes. Thank you, Paul! Now watch the movie with me."

Alice didn't forget. She forced him to sing the song, but the expression on her face was the cutest thing ever, so it made the experience a little bit better. He'd do anything for a happy Alice. Around forty five minutes, maybe a hour, she passed out, still hugging the little stuffed animal.

He paused the movie, then picked the kid up, who made a quiet grumbly noise. Paul carefully carried her to her bedroom, gently placing her down on the bed and tucking her in. "Night, Al." he whispered, brushing the hair out of her face. She turned around, back facing him, the collar of her pink pajamas peeking out from under the blanket.  
  


Paul turned on her night light, casting a soft light in the shadows of her room. He shut the door, hinges creaking as it clicked into place with a soft thud.

He had nothing to do for a few hours. Maybe he'd finish watching the movie. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but maybe he hummed along to a few songs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooooooo thank you for reading! if you left a kudos or a comment thatd be fantastic but you dont have to. give me your thoughts! liked it? hated it! i wanna know everything!
> 
> (reminder of the day: hydration, food, medication! you deserve the world but the world does not deserve you. youre doing a great job, and i believe in you. having a rough day? thats okay. its normal, it happens. sure, it can get worse but you cant go deeper than rock bottom. one day, youre gonna look back at today and go "huh. that was a bad day, but bad days happen. im doing great, now!"
> 
> and maybe that day wont happen for a long time, but it will. i promise you)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: none! again!

Occasionally, Quirrell would sometimes wonder what would happen if he had never met Voldemort at all. He knew that no matter what roads they took, him and Voldemort would always find each other. They were meant to be, he knew that for sure.

But if they hadn't met until a later date, what would've happened? Would he still be teaching defense against the dark arts at Hogwarts? Quirrell was happy with his current situation, but he still longed for the... simpler times. He loved being a professor, even if it meant staying up till sunrise to grade papers or having to deal with the students who were intent on making him suffer, whether it be conversations from across the room, plain disrespect, or interrupting the class. It was wasted potential, he had initially thought as he was thrown into Azkaban. A man as intelligent as him, locked in prison to rot. He was one of the brightest professors at Hogwarts, even winning several awards. If you were to ask him about it, Quirrell would say it was wasted potential.

He sighed quietly, glancing over at Voldemort who had fallen asleep hours ago. The steady rise and fall of his chest distracted Quirrell from his thoughts for a few moments. It wasn't like Quirrell had a normal sleep schedule, but he was typically sleeping, or at least trying to, at this time of... night. Day? Whatever. All he could do was just sit in bed and wait till it was a reasonable hour, maybe six or seven, then get out of bed. Voldemort would complain, try and convince him to stay before he gave up, and Quirrell could just tend to his garden.

He'd been so deep in his thoughts that he didn't notice the rustling of fabric and an arm being slung over his waist. In the pitch black darkness of their bedroom, Quirrell could still see the rough outline of his lover's face thanks to the moonlight which shone in from through the window. He couldn't read his expression very well, but if he had to guess, Voldemort was not happy with being awake.

"Go to sleep. You're thinking too loud." Voldemort groggily murmured, eyes half shut.

"What does that even mean?"

"Whatever. What're you even doing?"

"Just thinking."

...

Silence. He knew it was late, but was Voldemort really tired enough to fall asleep mid conversation? Quirrell couldn't blame him, though.

"I'm waiting. Go on."

"What- oh. Just about stuff, I guess. Nothing important."

"If it wasn't important you wouldn't be awake. Something's bothering you."

"No, I swear. I-It's not a big deal."

"Okay, then tell me what you're thinking if it's 'not that important'."

Quirrell huffed, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He didn't want to tell him. What if Voldemort took it the wrong way and thought that this was his way of breaking up with him? He wouldn't even be able to live with himself if that happened. Just stop- you're overthinking. You can just... play it the safe route, Quirrell. Keep the details limited, or just lie-

"Hey, hey. It's okay." a soft voice spoke out. Voldemort sat up, bringing Quirrell with him and encasing him in a comforting hug. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

"Sorry, I just- I just..."

"You don't have to explain yourself, okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay." Voldemort repeated, followed by a long silence. Their bedroom was quiet, other than the quiet breathing of both men. But, Quirrell eventually spoke up, breaking the stillness of the environment.

"I was thinking about how it'd be if we never met." he started, looking up at Voldemort to see if he would react in any way. He didn't seem to be offended, only responded with a hum that confirmed he heard what Quirrell had said. So, he continued. "Not that I regret anything or whatever but- okay, yeah, you get it. But I still could've been teaching at Hogwarts. I'm happy with everything the way it is right now, of course, b-but I guess I was just curious as to how everything would've been if we... I'm just being redundant. You get my point, right? I just didn't want you to get upset or anything or-"

"Squirrel, you know I love you, right?"

"Yeah..."

"I'll keep on loving you no matter what dumb things come out of your mouth? It's okay to reminisce about the past. You can tell me anything, and I will listen, no matter what."

"I love you too." Quirrell murmured, forehead resting on Voldemort's shoulder. " 'M sor-"

"You don't need to apologize."

He didn't know how long it took for him to fall asleep- Quirrell doubted that it took long, because when he opened his eyes, there was a soft orange glow cast throughout the room. Voldemort laid next to him, back against his. When he looked out the window, the sun was just barely above the horizon, the sky a mix of oranges, pinks, and blues.

As he slowly tried to get up, Voldemort stirred in his sleep. He paused, waiting a few seconds before attempting to stand up once more. This did not work as well as he hoped, because when he glanced over his shoulder, the other man was looking right back at him. Voldemort quietly groaned, covering his eyes with his hand. "Go back to sleep."

"But it's 6:30-"

"Too bad." he said, grabbing Quirrell's arm and pulling him down onto the bed with a soft thud. "Far too early t' be awake."

Quirrell grinned. "Okay, maybe just a few more minutes."

"Hours."

"You're ruining my schedule."

"You're cooperating."

He paused. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I can't argue with that."

"Damn right, you can't. Now, sleep."

And Quirrell did fall back asleep, perfectly content with everything in life. It was moments like this that he loved, the serenity of it all, the playful bickering with Voldemort. He wouldn't trade this for anything else in the world.

It was okay.

Wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!!! this note wont be as long as the other ones sorry :(( i kept on messing up and accidentally deleted this one
> 
> (reminder of the day; you might be doing bad. you might be doing good. you might just be having a plain ol' neutral day. thats okay.  
> you might be feeling bad about your body or your personality or your hobbies and thats okay.
> 
> youre perfect the way you are, and if you want to change that? thats okay. as long as you love yourself, its okay. and even if you dont love yourself, just know that i love you. 
> 
> and yeah, you know where this is going. being okay is wonderful.)
> 
> social medias:  
> instagram: wingedrat_  
> tumblr: winged-rat666


	4. Goodbye To My Santa Monica Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some context for this- twas based off a roleplay me and my friends are doing on discord. its a high school au, and i decided to write this in honor of all the rain california has cursed us with
> 
> broadway academy pals, if youre reading this, hello.

Rain pattered against the windows, the windshield wipers squealing every few seconds. Some shitty pop song played in the background, followed by a commercial about car insurance or something that played twice in a row. Their school came into view, and Wilbur clenched his jaw, debating whether or not he should turn around. It was 4PM. He had better things to be doing than picking up some kid (he wasn’t just some kid- it  _ was _ his best friend) who he hadn’t had a pleasant conversation with in a little over two years. He could go back home- it wasn’t too late. John could deal with it by himself. Wilbur wasn’t obligated to be nice to him or anything. Which lead him to a question; why the hell was he doing this? So what if John were to suffer out in the rain. It was his fault, anyway, for not planning ahead.

His train of thought came to a sudden halt when the car slowed down. He looked out the window on the passenger’s side and saw John standing there, soaking wet, with a stupidly surprised expression on his face. It morphed into a dopey grin as he started running towards the car. Taking one last look at John, then the passenger seat, he took off his jacket, tossing it on the leather, because there was no damn way that he was gonna let John’s wet ass ruin his leather seats.

In a little under thirty seconds, John was already at the car. There was an attempt to open the door. Wilbur took a hand off the steering wheel and pressed the unlock button. Click. The door swung open with a thud, and he was ninety percent sure that the door had hit the edge of the sidewalk. Rain droplets made their way into the car. He gave a mean glare directed to John, who was questionably looking at the jean jacket. He got the hint right away and sat down, slamming the door shut.

When he heard the click of the seat belt snapping into place, he started driving. John huffed, turning his head to look at Wilbur. “Really?” he asked, fiddling with a keychain on his backpack, sounding somewhat offended. “Not even going to say hi? Or I don’t know, anything really?”

Silence came from Wilbur’s part. His hands gripped onto the steering wheel tighter. He tried to ignore John, and instead focused on the radio. It was playing another shitty pop song. Not the same one, though the gist was the same. It was probably The Chainsmokers. Or Maroon 5. There was an unnecessary rap bit thrown into there, too. It was still better than listening to John. He reached over, hand nearing the knob to turn the volume up. His hand was quickly swatted away, though. Without taking his eyes off the road, he reached for the knob again.

“No- no.” John cut in again- good God, did that man know how to stop talking? “You don’t get to ignore me like that.”   
  
Scoffing, he returned his hand to the steering wheel, because that wasn’t going to work out. “Actually, yes I do. I don’t have to talk to you.” he said, quickly glancing at John. He didn’t have to keep his eyes locked on the road. He was a good driver. He just didn’t want to make eye contact with him. “I came here to pick you up from school, not talk to you.”   
  
“Yeah, b-”   
  
“No buts.”   
  
“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”   
  
“I have a vague idea. Tell me, do you talk to your Uber drivers?”   
  
“No, bu-”   
  
“There we go.”   
  
Obviously frustrated, John frowned, lips drawn in a tight line. Satisfied, Wilbur smiled slightly. There were a few moments of peace, silence, tranquility, until he spoke up again. “This is different.” John murmured, arms crossed. “You’re not my Uber driver. You’re my friend.”   
  
“Was.” he corrected.

He looked somewhat hurt, but fixed his sentence anyway. “You  _ were _ my friend. Same difference.”   
  
“Was.” Wilbur said again. “I was your friend. But now I’m not.”   
  
Expecting for Wilbur to continue, John waited in silence. After a few seconds passed, he slumped in his seat. The leather combined with his wet shirt made a squelching noise. He hoped that his car would be okay after this. Hopefully he had the decency to not put his feet on the dashboard.

“Why?”   
  
“What?”   
  


“Why are you like this now?”   
  
“Why?” Wilbur mocked, voice a higher pitch. John looked at him questionably. “Why do you think you can keep asking me personal questions- more specifically,  _ this one _ ?”   
  
“Because I want to know what the hell went wrong with you.”

“Nothing went wrong with me.”   
  
“You say that.”

Taking a deep breath, his eyes were trained on the road again. “Shut the fuck up.” he snapped, patience wearing thing. John seemed to have other ideas.

“You can’t tell me what to do.”   
  
The tires screeched as he slammed on the brakes, car stopping abruptly. The car behind him skidded to a halt with a honk of its horn. He pulled to the side of the road, hand held up to apologize to the other driver. The driver returned the hand signal as they drove past Wilbur’s car With that problem out of the way, he turned his body to look at John. They were five, ten minutes away from his house (why he still had his address memorized, Wilbur didn’t have an answer to that). “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” he repeated.

John sat up straight again and gave him a challenging look.

“I can and will drop you off right here.” he threatened, the rain seeming to pour harder as he said that. That made him back off a little bit, though he still seemed unpleased with how Wilbur had been treating him. It wasn’t necessarily Wilbur’s fault he was being an asshole- John just had that effect on people, because fuck- he was annoying.

“I’ve known you forever!” John exclaimed. “I have the right to know what’s going on with you.”   
  
“No, you don’t. You really don’t. Shut your entitled ass up- if anything was going on with me- which it isn’t- I still wouldn’t have to tell you. Just because we were friends once doesn’t mean tha-”

He was cut off when he saw John’s eyes dart down to his chest. Confused, he opened his mouth to talk but was interrupted again. “You kept it.” John said, his hand shooting out to grasp the dog tags that Wilbur was wearing. He was too close for Wilbur’s personal liking, but he didn’t object, just stayed silent. The chain jingled as John held it in between his index finger and thumb, pulling on it slightly. His thumb ran over the light inscription that was carved into the steel. Jaw clenched, he tilted his head up, trying not to look at John. The proximity made him uncomfortable.

He shoved John away and tucked the dog tags back into his shirt. He started up the engine again, looking out the window to make sure no cars were near him. He pulled back into the main road, turning the radio up and changing to a random station. John didn’t say anything.

“We’ll be at your house soon.” he said, voice croaky.

John said something, but it was drowned out by the music. He doubted it was something important, anyway. From the mirror, he could see John looking at him expectantly, but he didn’t say anything, just looked away. The rain came to a stop, sun peeking out through the clouds.

His fingers tapped along to the beat of the song on the armrest. Hopefully John wouldn’t find out about the watch.

_ Let’s say sunshine for everyone _

_ But as far as I can remember _

_ We’ve been migratory animals _

_ Living under changing weather _

_ Someday we will foresee obstacles _

_ Through the blizzard, through the blizzard _

_ Today we will sell our uniform _ _   
_ _ Live together, live together _

_ We played hide and seek in waterfalls  _

_ We were younger, we were younger _

Wilbur almost laughed at the irony of it all.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you couldn't tell, i was listening to the life is strange soundtrack.
> 
> anyways, i hope you havent been missing this being updated too much.
> 
> (reminder of the day: remember to stay hydrated, take your meds, and eat food, kids. if you decided to read this at 2am, please go to sleep. it can wait. your health is more important than a silly fic i decide to update every so often. if its a reasonable hour for you, hi! thanks for reading. i love you, and so do many other people- you might just not know it yet.
> 
> michael, out.)
> 
> social medias:  
> instagram: wingedrat_  
> tumblr: winged-rat666  
> discord: changes way too often


End file.
